


too good (to be good for me)

by princessoftheworlds



Series: drape me in your warmth [2]
Category: Torchwood
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Different First Meeting, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Bottom Jack, Dom/sub Undertones, Explicit Sexual Content, Fucking Machines, Light Bondage, M/M, Mortal Jack Harkness, Multiple Orgasms, Orgasm Delay/Denial, Praise Kink, Time Agent Jack Harkness
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-27
Updated: 2021-02-27
Packaged: 2021-03-18 05:15:00
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,021
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29728884
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/princessoftheworlds/pseuds/princessoftheworlds
Summary: Javic should have known better - a day off from Torchwood never really meant "a day off," but Ianto shows him just how well he can multi-task.
Relationships: Jack Harkness/Ianto Jones
Series: drape me in your warmth [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2184954
Comments: 12
Kudos: 33





	too good (to be good for me)

**Author's Note:**

  * For [blipintiime](https://archiveofourown.org/users/blipintiime/gifts).



> I have no excuses for this; this entire fic is porn. Just porn. It hopefully should make up for the lack of smut in this current arc (arc two) of sing me like a choir. 
> 
> This is set ambigiously in sing me like a choir, with no specific timeline, so theoretically, it could be imagined to be at any point in the fic you want but preferably during arc two or later. It also contains no spoilers for the fic at all, so you could also read it without having read sing me like a choir as long as you know the basic premise of: Ianto is the director of a united Torchwood Institute in 2020/2021 and meets Time Agent Javic Thane, and they become fuck buddies who grow feelings.
> 
> This fic is entirely not of my creation. Much credit (about 40% of it at least) has to go to Remi, who brainstormed (read: sent paragraphs of smut back and forth) with me but gave me their blessing to turn this into a fic. Credit also goes to Jacklynn for reacting to what Remi and I had written and lowkey convincing me to write this as an actual fic (and also for requesting a Javic/Ianto smut fic in the Bloody Torchwood server several weeks ago; I'd taken note, but to be honest, I'd been planning for your birthday, so lmao.) Thanks to Al for patiently editing and pointing out several sexual inaccuracies and also thanks to Violet for helping me fix them while laughing at me. (And for the new series title.)
> 
> Also, this is now a series! Yay! Time to briefly mention that someone who won't be named (read: Kai and Al) talked me into planning a spinoff of sing me like a choir for some point in the future.
> 
> Anyways, that's enough rambling from me. Dedicated to Jacklynn. I hope you enjoy this!
> 
> (It's important to me that you all know that this smut was written in Comic Sans. Know. Suffer that knowledge.)

It starts with one of Javic’s regular visits to Ianto, except Ianto’s taken the day off so they are meant to be lazing around his flat snogging and shagging and occasionally pausing to eat. “Meant to” are the key words, because ever since Javic arrived, Ianto’s been working on file after file, taking call after call, and Javic is beginning to feel a little neglected in favor of  _ Torchwood. _

He’s already laid on the couch for a few hours and watched meaningless Welsh reality television, but he’s bored and frustrated. Ianto’s too pretty in his casualwear, his sleeves rolled up to expose his well-muscled forearms, his fingers straining and flexing as they wrap around his smartphone or a pen, these very same fingers Javic wants wrapped around his cock or inside of him. He’s perpetually hard, always is around Ianto, and so very  _ wanting. _

“Iantooooo,” he wheedles, immaturely popping his head into Ianto’s bedroom, where Ianto is on work call number three. Ianto, pacing the hardwood, turns and holds his fingers to his lips in the universal signal to  _ shush _ and gives Javic a stern glare that only serves to make him harder. He likes it when Ianto’s mean to him.

When the call is finally over, Ianto tosses aside his smartphone and pulls Javic into his arms, one hand snaking down his trousers to stroke Javic’s erection. Javic sighs into Ianto’s kiss, grinding slightly against his hand and whining when it’s cruelly snatched away.

“What’s wrong?” Ianto asks, stroking a thumb along Javic’s cheek. He slides his hand to cup Javic’s cheek, and Javic leans into the touch, eyes briefly flickering shut. Then they snap open as he remembers his frustrations.

“I came here,” says Javic petulantly, “to spend time with you, but you’d rather field calls from Torchwood. I get that you’re the director, but you literally took a day off from work. How is it that you’re still working from home?”

Ianto sighs, leaning in to kiss Javic again, nuzzling his nose against Javic’s jawline. “I don’t like it either,” he replies, eyes wide and apologetic, “but work at Torchwood never stops. It’s always like this. Sometimes I do get lucky and actually get a day off, sometimes I don’t.”

His smartphone chooses that exact minute to buzz irritatingly again with another call, and Ianto smiles helplessly.

“If you pick that phone up,” Javic warns, “I’m going to walk onto the street right now, find a club, and dance the night away.  _ Without you. _ ” He knows exactly what he’s insinuating to Ianto - him grinding against several sweaty bodies under colorful flashing lights, hands travelling all over his body as he’s fawned at, hands that are not Ianto’s. Javic won’t actually, but Ianto doesn’t know that.

Ianto’s eyes darken, and Javic knows  _ immediately  _ that he’s made a misstep.

Which is how he finds himself with his hands bound to the headboard of Ianto’s bed, his legs pressed very tightly to his chest, his thighs trembling, while this fucking machine that Ianto splurged on and  _ never told Javic about  _ pumps a sizeable dildo into his hole.

The other man hums, looking very pleased as he kneels on the edge of the bed, near Javic’s head, stroking through Javic’s hair and occasionally  _ tugging.  _ He leans down to whisper something in Javic’s ear, his breath fanning across the sensitive skin there and causing Javic to shiver, but Javic’s a little  _ distracted  _ to actually catch what Ianto says.

The dildo, as Javic first observed when Ianto fixed it to the machine, is not much larger than Ianto’s cock, is not even the largest toy they’ve experiment with shoving inside of Javic - or vice versa - but it feels impossibly big inside him, almost like it’s splitting him apart, and he’s whimpering and whining and only focused on keeping his legs folded and his hips bucking so that the dildo will eventually, maybe,  _ hopefully  _ strike his prostate. Thus far, he’s been successful, clenching down on the toy and squirming.

“ _ Ianto, _ ” he says, tugging against his bonds, but not very forcibly; he very much does enjoy being tied down, enjoys being subject to Ianto’s mercy. “C’mon.  _ Touch me. _ ”

Ianto’s lips curl into a wicked smirk. “I am touching you,” he replies, and as if to demonstrate his point, he strokes a gentle hand down Javic’s chest, steering clear of his sensitive nipples.

Javic huffs, about to complain that  _ Ianto knows that isn’t what he means,  _ but he hears a familiar buzz. Ianto stands and wanders over to the other side of his bed to fetch his smartphone and checks the caller ID. His eyebrows rise.

“Ianto Jones,” Javic begins in a near feral snarl of frustrated lust, “if you take that call-”

“I’m sorry, Javic,” says Ianto. “It’s work.” The machine chooses that moment to thrust forward, shoving the dildo inside Javic briefly before retracting, forcing his breath away, and he whines loudly. “And as sinful as you sound, I’m afraid I can’t have you distracting me while I am on-call.”

“Ianto, don’t-” Javic protests, but Ianto’s already rummaging inside his nightstand for another one of his new toys, and soon Javic finds his mouth stretched open around a ball gag. He makes a muffled sound of protest.

Ianto strokes a single finger along Javic’s jaw, tempting and taunting him. Javic turns his face to the side to avoid Ianto’s burning gaze but Ianto’s hand returns, his fingers tight and unyielding as they clutch Javic’s jaw, turning him until they can lock eyes.

“No,” Ianto demands, voice low and stern, “I want to see you. I  _ get  _ to see you. It’s my privilege.” He inhales sharply, chest heaving, and Javic suddenly realizes that Ianto is just as affected as he is. “You look so pretty drooling around this shiny red gag; it matches how brightly you’re blushing.” He brushes a thumb under Javic’s eyes, and it comes back wet. “ _ Oh,  _ and you’re crying too. I’m afraid you’ll still have to wait.” His cruel smirk returns, and he lifts his phone to his ear as he strides away to sit in the armchair on the other side of the room.

Javic can feel his cheeks burning, the tears of frustration leaking from his eyes, as he chokes back a loud moan, his hips bucking, except there’s nowhere to go. There’s no escape from this fake plastic cock fucking into him almost as deep and as well as Ianto can, and Javic can only lie there and take it because  _ Ianto wants him to. _

“No, that won’t do, Gwen,” Ianto says suddenly and shifts in the armchair, crossing his legs, hand falling to his lap to discreetly adjust his cock; Javic has an excellent view from where he’s bound to the bed. “The Weevils have become a lot more aggressive than expected.” And then he goes off on a tangent about new Weevil suppressant sprays, and the faint part of Javic’s mind that’s still responsive and able to operate despite his entire body being overwhelmed with pleasure is miffed that he’s being disregarded for  _ fucking Weevils.  _

_ How can Ianto act so put-together? _ wonders this same part of Javic’s mind. He’s vaguely aware that he’s whimpering, the sound muffled by his gag, but he can’t help it; every move of the dildo inside him, brushing against his walls before pulling out, bumping up against his prostate, sets his spine sparking with electricity, short-circuits his brain.  _ It’s too much. _

He flexes his hips upwards, trying to take in more of the dildo, trying to further angle it towards his prostate, but to no avail. Ianto’s set the machine on a rhythm so slow that it’s almost unpredictable. Every time Javic thinks it’s re-entering him, it’s actually retracting, over and over and over again until he’s nearly out of his (remaining) mind with pleasure. His knees ache from the angle at which he has them crushed against his chest, his thighs almost visibly shaking beyond their minute trembling from before, but he can’t put his legs down and worsen the angle of the dildo. Nor does he think that Ianto wants him to. What Ianto wants is, ultimately, what Javic will do, what Javic will want. Anything,  _ everything,  _ for Ianto.

Javic doesn't know whether he wants to come or not; he doesn’t even know if he’d be able to, not with how overwhelmed he is, his body and his senses dizzyingly bewildered. He spreads his knees slightly, and one glance between them confirms that his cock is an angry red and weeping uncontrollably. He shudders, hands straining at his bonds to reach for his cock and relieve the nearly unbearable ache, lips beginning to ache from the stretch of the gag.

Ianto keeps shooting indulgent glances at him when he’s otherwise not lost in thought or biting his lip. For the longest time, it seems that he’s genuinely struggling between urges, warring between staying invested in his work call or wandering to the utterly debauched and wrung out Javic.

Faintly, Javic feels the familiar sharpness of pride in his chest, that he can cause the impeccable self-control of Ianto Jones to falter, but the emotion is quickly swallowed by the burning forest fire of  _ want  _ and  _ need. _

Ultimately, it seems that Ianto can’t ignore Javic, as the other man stands and approaches Javic, taking a seat on the edge of the bed, so close to Javic that he could have pulled the Time Agent’s head onto his thigh had Javic not been bound. He tucks his smartphone securely under his ear and then reaches for Javic, gently brushing his knuckles against Javic’s cheek, drifting his hands over Javic’s chest and squeezing his nipples, trying not to laugh into his call as Javic tries his utmost to buck up into the feather-light touches, keening quietly.

This is the worst torture for Javic, being completely naked and tied down and unpredictably fucked by a  _ device _ and Ianto being right there, his eyes dark and lusty, lips pressed tightly together when he’s not speaking, an obvious bulge in his well-fitted trousers. (He’s a fifty-first century guy; he’s never minded sentient artificial sexual partners or even non-sentient, high-tech toys, but something about Ianto Jones causes nothing to compare. Nothing  _ can  _ compare, because there’s no one that Javic’s ever loved like Ianto Jones. No one else he would give up complete control to in a capacity beyond just the bedroom.) The complete impropriety of it, of Javic being laid out like a plaything while Ianto attempts to continue conducting his business, only turns him on further.

Ianto strokes a single finger along Javic’s cheek, and Javic  _ trembles,  _ a slow burning fire spreading across his legs. He’s covered in a thin sheen of sweat from his inability to move, from his determination to keep from coming on this dildo alone because Ianto  _ asked  _ him not to.

Christ, Javic loves him.

He sighs, attempting to arch into Ianto’s touch, but it’s gone as quickly as he felt it. Ianto continues touching him like that, tantalizingly, almost coyly. And for all Javic loves him, he also hates him, because he cranes his head, whimpering, wanting Ianto’s lips against his, wants Ianto to grant him release like he’s a starving man who needs water, but Ianto moves away again, reaching for his phone. 

“Well, tell Owen to keep testing the Weevils then,” he says into the speaker. “Some operatives captured a new brood yesterday, a mother and her babies. The spray was less effective on them. Martha said she thinks the Weevils are adapting. Like I said, it’s time for a new formula.”

_ What’s up with the fucking Weevils?  _ rages Javic. He almost feels neglected and makes a strangled sound of disappointment in the back of his throat but abruptly stops when Ianto squeezes his shoulder firmly. It’s not Ianto’s fault that he has to work; well, it is, considering that he’s the director, but it’s not like he chooses for Torchwood to have crises. Javic has it on good word, on  _ Ianto’s  _ word, that Ianto much prefers Javic to his own work, but Ianto’s a good man, better than Javic, really, and won’t put Cardiff and the world at risk for his own personal pleasure.

Even if Javic thinks he should.

“What does Tosh think?” asks Ianto. “She helped Owen design the original formula for the Weevil suppressant spray. She must know it and its effects better than I do.” He sighs almost frustratedly, hand coming up to squeeze the bridge of his nose. 

The dildo keeps fucking in and out of Javic smoothly now, its way eased by plenty of lube and the fact that it’s managed to stretch Javic loose enough because of its size. It keeps shoving up inside Javic, its head bumping against his prostate, colorful sparks exploding behind his eyes. Javic swallows back more whimpers and futilely cants his hips.

Despite Ianto being stuck on the phone call with - presumably - Gwen, his expression is so sympathetic, so forgiving, as he feasts his widened eyes on Javic, who has traversed a new selfishness. He just wants to come, wants to release his grip on the cliff’s edge of his orgasm and fall off the precipice, wants to reach out and touch Ianto, but he  _ can’t.  _ And that’s just plainly cruel.

One touch of Ianto’s hand would be enough, even one tweak of Javic’s nipple would tumble him off that edge, but it’s almost as if Ianto knows that.

“That’s unfortunate,” says Ianto, and just when Javic thinks the other man has finally amazed him by reading his mind - an irrational thought, really, but irrationality seems to be all that Javic is currently capable of under Ianto’s control - Ianto’s tone lightens, softens in the way that it only does when talking to Gwen. “Anyways, are we still on for Tuesday? Lunch? That Italian place you mentioned, the one that just opened on the Plass?”

Were he in his right mind, Javic would have grit his teeth because right now, Ianto’s not even pretending to work or that this phone call is purely business-focused. He bites back a whine at suddenly feeling neglected, but it’s forced out of his throat anyway - and of course, muffled by the gag - when the dildo jams right against his prostate. His body arches briefly off the bed, his thighs uncontrollable and burning with exhaustion until ultimately, he’s forced to drop them, his feet falling against the mattress with a soft  _ thud.  _ He still keeps his legs spread, his knees folded, feet flat against the soft woolly blanket of Ianto’s bed. The angle of the dildo’s changed now, but somehow, it feels worse, more intense, than before.

The sudden collapse of his previous position has obviously not gone unnoticed by Ianto; his sympathetic smile turns wicked as he reaches to brush hair back from Javic’s sweaty forehead. The next moment, his hand is back by his side, placed on his upper thigh, brushing treacherously close to the impressive bulge in his trousers. Javic misses Ianto’s touch, craves it with an intensity that nearly frightens him, and luckily Ianto strokes Javic’s hair back once more before he finally stands, his call seemingly drawing to a close.

Instead, Ianto wanders around the bed until he stands before the fucking machine currently pistoning the dildo deep inside Javic. Ianto bends, phone tucked between his shoulder and ear again, and fiddles carefully with the controls of the machine. 

Then, all of a sudden, the dildo’s rhythm slows just a fraction, Javic shivering at how the change in speed causes the toy to drag pleasurably against his insides, but Ianto’s not done just yet. He flicks one final switch, and on its return inside Javic, the dildo almost twists against Javic’s prostate in a fluttering pattern. Javic forgets how to think at all. He’s been reduced to two points of sensation, his sloppy, well-fucked hole - as Ianto likes to refer to it - and his cock, currently in a state of unbelievable agony that borders the fine knife’s edge of pleasure.

It doesn’t help the way Ianto returns, trailing fingers along Javic’s trembling stomach, his touch a whisper against Javic’s overheated skin. His touches do not last, but they linger.

“Employee morale seems to be fine,” Ianto tells Gwen, his smartphone back in his hand. “We don’t need a Christmas  _ and  _ a New Year’s party, Gwen. That would be murder on our budget. We already spent too much this year on those Dracoian whiskies the Neskarian heir wanted. We’re Torchwood, not a bloody bartering system.”

_ Please, Ianto,  _ Javic wants to beg.  _ Please. Touch me. Let me come.  _

He’d do anything for a rough hand wrapped around his weeping cock. Or for Ianto’s soft lips pressed against his. His jaw aches from this ball gag.

As Ianto twists harsh fingers in Javic’s sweat-slick hair for the countless time, Javic wishes that Ianto would get off the damn call. He wants Ianto whispering seductively in his ear, whispering about how much Javic loves having a cock up his arse, about how Javic’s doing so good for Ianto, about how Javic’s  _ a good boy. _

Javic holds back a whimper at the last one. There is a small puddle of precome soaking the towel between his thighs that Ianto was clever enough to place before manhandling Javic to the bed.

“Was this your or Owen’s idea?” asks Ianto, seated by Javic’s side again, right where he belongs. “Owen never really needs an excuse to drink. Granted, if I spent all day around Weevils or junior operatives who touched alien artifacts despite being warned, I’d take any excuse for a drink too.” He murmurs something about Weevils underneath his breath; Javic’s a bit preoccupied being driven out of his mind with pleasure to catch it.

He thinks - or tries to think, more like it - that when this is over, when he’s finally allowed to come, when he’s able to limp over to Ianto, he will wrestle away that damn phone and burn it. Or throw it off the rooftop of this building. Or, better yet, he’ll wrestle Ianto to this bed and tie him down and use the machine on him.

Briefly, his hazy mind entertains itself with thoughts of a glaring Ianto, his lips bitten red raw from their snogging, his body on display just like Javic’s currently is. Javic wouldn’t gag him, no; he’d want to be able to hear that incredible Welsh accent as Ianto cursed and protested and moaned and eventually pleaded to Javic for release just like Javic wants to plead to Ianto. Wants to please Ianto.

Then he imagines himself on his knees before Ianto, choking on Ianto’s thick cock, and his toes curl in pleasure. The ache in his jaw would be similar; Javic can imagine it, can feel it already.

When Ianto finally,  _ finally  _ pulls his phone away from his ear, thumb swiping across the glass screen to cut the call, Javic’s heart nearly bursts in relief. He starts squirming and writhing and twisting his body around the bed, struggling against his restraints, doing as much as he can to gain Ianto’s attention. He knows that he’s drooling around the gag, but he doesn’t care because he  _ needs  _ Ianto, needs him to just do something, to touch Javic. 

Ianto glances over at him and rolls his eyes fondly at Javic, tossing his smartphone onto the nightstand. Then he reaches for Javic and flicks Javic’s nipple with his fingers, and Javic would  _ howl  _ if he could.

Javic knows that Ianto loves him, really loves him from the bottom of his heart, but Javic also knows that Ianto loves to make Javic suffer, which he loves too. Quite a pair they make. Javic the hedonist, Ianto the one with the service kink.

The other man meets Javic’s gaze, and Ianto smirks. Javic can feel his heart burn with intense warmth. But just no sooner has Ianto floated towards him than he’s moving away again, back towards the fucking machine, and Javic manages not to roll his eyes, knowing that Ianto’s fingers flexing as they reach for the controls again does not spell anything good for him.

And he’s right. With one more flip of a switch, Ianto causes the machine to speed up until the dildo is shoving into Javic so quickly, so  _ roughly,  _ that he can barely even differentiate between thrusts. Each piston of the dildo inside Javic forces his breath from his lungs, and he’s panting, breathing harshly through his nose. His eyes roll back into his head, and suddenly he’s only really aware of Ianto petting him gently, stroking soft fingers against his forehead and sweeping back his hair again.

Ianto’s speaking too, whispering directly into Javic’s ear in a rough tone that sets Javic’s body aflame, every lilt of Ianto’s accent magnified: “You can take this for me, of course you can.” Javic inhales raggedly. “You’re a good boy; you can be a good boy.” Ianto brushes his knuckles against Javic’s cheek and then bends close until Javic can smell his natural musk, until Javic’s wide eyes can peer right into Ianto’s. And the Welshman whispers again, “Do it all for me.”

Javic can do that. He can be good for Ianto. He’s been searching all his life for someone to guide him, for his compass rose, for his north star. And he’s found him. Ianto’s his north star. He can be good for Ianto. He  _ will  _ be good for Ianto. He will be everything that Ianto Jones has always wanted and better.

Then Ianto’s briefly gone, and there’s coldness by Javic’s side, Ianto no longer in his reach. Javic whimpers behind the gag, tears of frustration, of  _ love,  _ leaking from his eyes, his vision blurring slightly, his body a live wire. He’s so overwhelmed, so entirely overwhelmed. 

Warm lips wrap around his weeping cock, and he nearly shouts - not quite, but it’s a close thing. Ianto’s mouth is slick and burning hot as he kneels on the other side of the bed and deepthroats Javic, his arm a steel bar pressing Javic’s hips down, pinning him to the mattress.

Ianto swallows around Javic’s cock, the muscles in his throat working rhythmically, and Javic can’t take it, can no longer take it now that he has Ianto’s mouth on him. Javic’s hips buck despite Ianto’s strength, and he manages a shallow thrust deeper into Ianto’s throat, forcing the dildo against his prostate. The stimulation on both sides is what pushes him over the edge, Ianto sucking his brain out through his cock seeming to be express permission to come. So he does. 

Javic almost blacks out as his vision washes golden, brightness exploding behind his shut eyes. His back arches, and he forces himself further onto the dildo, and his toes curl, and he’s soaring for what could be ages, Ianto’s name buried deep in his heart, the warmth unfurling through every inch of his body, until he feels the euphoria begin to fade. 

Slowly, he comes down from his orgasm, faintly aware of tears streaming down his cheeks, of Ianto seated by his side again, stroking his hair. Funny. He hadn’t even realized that Ianto had moved.

Despite his orgasm, he’s still in agony, the dildo still fucking into him, and he’s getting sensitive now; it’s painful but teetering less and less towards pleasurable. 

But Ianto just loves to see him suffer, and so Javic’s heart aching as his body does, he bears down on the toy, wanting, hoping to make Ianto proud. Ianto, who is smiling down at him so proudly.

He’s overwhelmed, his hips jerking this way and that, but it doesn’t matter; even though he wants to move his hips to angle the dildo off his prostate, he won’t. Because Ianto wants him to do this, and that’s more than enough to keep Javic there, pain and pleasure mixing into a cacophony of contradiction across his body.

Javic must look a mess; he knows he does, but Ianto is watching him with something akin to wonder in his eyes as whimpers and whines and grunts and keens struggle to escape from him, caught by the gag.

“ _ Shhh, _ ” Ianto tells him, reaching to gently rub tears away from Javic’s cheek, brushing his thumb across Javic’s cheekbone. “I know you can keep going,  _ my good boy. _ ” He sighs fondly, and Javic wants to melt under the softness and adoration in Ianto’s gaze. “You look so pretty like this, tied up and gagged just for  _ me. _ ” He leans in closer, as if confessing to Javic: “Sometimes, when I sleep, when you’re no longer in my bed, I dream of you. They’re all lovely dreams, but my favorite ones are the ones with you like this or you riding my cock. I wake up harder than you could possibly believe those mornings.” His eyebrow raises as he smiles slightly. “I always miss you, but I miss you the most then.”

Then he reaches for Javic’s cock, wraps a steady hand around it, and Javic lets out a muffled scream, every single nerve in his body overwhelmed as Ianto begins to stroke him until he gets hard again, taking advantage of Javic’s nearly nonexistent refractory period, courtesy of fifty-first century evolution. Through it all, however, Ianto doesn’t let up. Javic can hear him chuckling as his hand moves over Javic, until, impossibly so, Javic is coming dry, this orgasm just as intense as the one previous, with the dual stimulation of the rough palm circling his cock and the dildo against his poor, abused prostate.

“There you go,” croons Ianto. “You’re so good, so good for me.”

Finally,  _ finally,  _ Ianto takes mercy on Javic and switches the machine off. He pulls the dildo out of Javic, but he’s been stretched wide enough, so used to having something inside him and - most importantly - loving it. When Ianto takes the ball gag off Javic moments later, his fingers gently squeezing Javic’s aching jaw and rubbing over his lips, Javic is just whining and whimpering and clenching down. But he’s empty, painfully so.

Instead of rolling his eyes fondly, Ianto indulges Javic a bit more, likely because Javic is still so out of it. He unties Javic and takes the other man’s wrists into his hands, rubbing to bring the blood circulation back to normal. 

Javic’s eyes are heavy-lidded, and he’s sleepy and pliant, so Ianto carefully drapes him over his lap and trails a finger over Javic’s hole, watching as he shivers, his spine arching delightfully. Slowly, Ianto pushes a finger inside Javic, feeling the other man flutter helplessly around him, and then a second, scissoring him gently just to toy with him.

“Good boy,” he says, pressing a tender kiss to the side of Javic’s head, his heart full with love. “Such a good boy. Just for me.”

He rubs a knuckle against the swell of Javic’s ass and tugs at the rim of his hole a bit, sinking his fingers in deeper and playing with him, rubbing against his insides but careful not to jostle his prostate. When Javic finally calms down a bit and lifts his head to gaze at Ianto with adoring eyes, Ianto settles him back against the bed. He fetches a warm washcloth from the bathroom and cleans off Javic’s arse before carefully tugging the towel he’d set down before from underneath Javic. The towel caught some of the lube that dripped from Javic’s arse, and none thankfully got on his sheets or his duvet. 

Javic looks as if he could drift off to sleep any moment now, so Ianto slides him under the covers, but when he takes one step away he hears a quiet voice.

“Don’t go,” Javic says, barely audible, but the longing in his words speaks volumes. “Stay with me. I want you besides me.”

And how can Ianto resist an offer like that? He can’t resist Javic, never could, so after shucking off his clothes and tossing them into his laundry hamper, he clambers into the bed beside him; Javic slides towards him, but the other man’s not satisfied.

“I feel so  _ empty, _ ” he whines, pouting at Ianto, clearly feeling a little more like himself again.

Rolling his eyes, Ianto takes pity on Javic. He’s still hard and conveniently trouserless, so he pulls himself out of his underwear and strokes himself slowly with lube from the bottle on the nightstand he never placed back into a drawer. Slowly, he lifts Javic’s leg and then eases himself inside him, Javic’s body welcoming him rather easily, loose and slick enough from their previous activities.

Javic hums and bears down on Ianto happily, comforted and grounded by having Ianto beside him, by having Ianto inside him, and his eyes briefly flutter once, twice, before he shuts them. Ianto draps an arm across Javic’s chest and pulls him closer, molding Javic’s body against his.

He knows that he shouldn’t sleep with his cock still inside Javic, knows that it’s not safe nor will be comfortable for either of them in the long run, but he still  _ aches,  _ so he ruts as gently as he can in Javic’s body, his hips bucking slightly. Javic sighs and whimpers and makes all kinds of delectable noises that the gag had kept him from, some of them out of pain, but luckily, Ianto’s been on the edge of orgasm for a while now, not unaffected by Javic under his control.

When he feels his balls drawing up and tightening, he grasps blindly for the washcloth he’d dropped off to the side of his nightstand, Javic groaning softly in compliant. Ianto pulls out quickly and twists, jacking himself off into the washcloth until he comes, his toes curling, biting back a quiet grunt, before dropping it back somewhere near the foot of the bed. Finally, he settles back comfortably against his pillows, Javic pulled loosely against him.

Sleep comes easily for them. Sleep always comes easily for Javic and Ianto when they’re wrapped in each other’s arms, their demons momentarily held at bay. And the night won’t last forever, but for now, it’s enough.

**Author's Note:**

> Find me on tumblr [here](http://princess-of-the-worlds.tumblr.com/) or on Twitter [here](https://twitter.com/rajkumarinik). I tweet and reblog mostly Torchwood with occasionally amusing commentary on nonsense. Please come talk to me and tell me if/how much you like my fic or like ask me about it on tumblr; all my schoolwork has become remote now, and I have limited social interaction.


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